Grim’s first offer came after his lunch at the local cheap delver inn. He’d just finished emptying his plate when someone slid into the other side of his private booth and offered him a smile. Without so much as a greeting or offer to join him, she simply leaned back and kicked her feet up onto the table, taking a long draft from the mug of frothy ale she was holding in one hand, and pointed at him with the other.

  ? “Come on, kid, cheer up! You’re ruining Dennis’ high-class meal!”

  ? Grim lifted his head slowly, contemplating the woman. It was the first time someone had ever approached him in such a direct, informal way. Did she have no idea of how things operated in this city? At the very least, she should have asked to sit beside him. But to blow past that entirely, and then to presume to tell him how to act? It was clear in about a second that this woman was not from Beastwick. That was confirmed as he took in her uniform– light leather and a green half-cape bearing some kind of cross symbol. On her left breast were the double bars of a Captain.

  ? “Captain Veyra Tull,” she told him, offering a slanted grin. So she did know some of the usual manners, Grim thought.

  ? “Good evening, Captain,” he replied, thinking that he should at least start out the conversation with a polite tone. At the very least, he didn’t want a Captain as his enemy. “How may I help you?”

  ? “I recognized your tunic,” she spoke, sounding as if she’d barely listened to his greeting. She took a long pull from her tankard, and for a moment, Grim thought that was all she would say. But after a few seconds, when she’d completely drained the golden ale, she slammed it down and leaned back further in her chair. “So. Which of this city’s pompous guilds are you applying to?”

  ? There was… something in the way she said ‘this city’ that caught Grim’s attention. Was that scorn in her voice? “Are you not from Beastwick?”

  ? Her shoulders shook in gentle humor. “Oh, you nearly offend me, kid. What’s your name?”

  ? “Grim Kestrel.”

  ? Captain Veyra Tull leaned further back in the rickety tavern chair, its legs creaking ominously as she peered owlishly down the length of her nose at him. In others, the gesture indicated a sense of superiority. But with this woman, he felt more like a rat, pinned effortlessly by some bird of prey, its fate up to the whim of a creature who tried to decide if he was food or merely a toy.

  ? “Not Grimveil, eh? I would’ve thought that a Child of Evandross would try to honor his legacy as much as possible.”

  ? Grim didn’t reply at once, favoring her with a slow blink. “Grim Grimveil would hardly roll off the tongue, captain.” He put a little emphasis on her title to politely indicate that he wasn’t interested in discussing this topic.

  ? “Too true,” she agreed. “But Kestrel… Like a hawk. I like that.”

  ? Without warning, she withdrew her feet from the table, letting her chair crash back down onto all fours, and got up. He looked up hopefully, thinking she had gotten his hint and was going to leave him in peace for the rest of the night. Instead, she slid neatly into the booth beside him. She was built like him–short and lean–but had a wiry sort of strength, easily able to check him to one side. “Dennis! Another ale, and one for my new friend Grim!”

  ? Grim tried to subtly slide away out of habit, but she threw an arm around him and pulled him back tight against her as if they were old friends. The gesture was casual enough, but her arm was like an iron bar, pressing insistently against his neck. Again, he had that strong impression of being small, pinned by some kind of bird of prey.

  ? “Hold on now, Grim,” she said. “Let’s get to know each other a little better. I told you my name, but I haven’t really introduced myself, have I?”

  ? “Ease up on the boy’s neck, Veyra,” the barkeep Dennis said as he approached. He held another large tankard for the woman in one hand, and a mug of steaming coffee in the other. “I’ll write Orren if you scare off any more of my patrons.”

  ? The corner of Veyra’s mouth tilted down in a slight pout, then curled upward. “Like that threat means anything to me. My beloved fiancée knows me too well to try and change me now.”

  ? She accepted the tankard with a word of thanks, then shooed Dennis away with the hand draped over Grim’s shoulders. For a moment, Dennis seemed like he’d argue, meeting Grim’s eyes to gauge his reaction. Grim could only shrug helplessly, and he accepted the situation, retreating–escaping–to the bar once again.

  ? “So, as I said, I’m Captain Veyra Tull,” the woman said, after draining nearly a quarter of the tankard and letting out a belch. “I’m with the Ironmarsh Cartographers.”

  ? Ah, Grim thought. Ironmarsh. That went a long way toward explaining her complete disregard for social niceties and general manners. It was said that people from that mountain town were… well, it was said that they were savages, possessing no more manners than a common street rat. Of course, as a street rat in the capital himself, he knew better than to put his full trust in such rumors. But the few people from Ironmarsh he had met seemed to suggest some merit to the idea. And this woman definitely lacked the subtle ways of a delver in Beastwick.

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  ? He studied her out of the corner of his eye, noting with some surprise that she couldn’t have been more than a few years older than him. Twenty-five at the oldest, if he’d had to guess. And she was a Captain? The third-highest rank available in a guild wasn’t exactly rare, but it took serious skill and experience to earn even that title. She certainly didn’t seem like the type.

  ? “Ironmarsh Cartographers?” He asked, still striving to sound polite, at least as far as he could. The name wasn’t familiar to him, but then again, he knew so little about her city beyond the rumors of savagery that tumbled out of the mouths of local gossips. “So, I’m guessing you’re an Expedition Guild.”

  ? “That’s right!” She exclaimed, smiling broadly at him, her brown eyes suddenly becoming warmer, more… inviting. It suddenly struck Grim that Veyra was quite pretty, with large brown eyes, a round face, and a slightly sarcastic smirk that hinted at a great sense of humor. Coupled with her slender, cat-like frame… He jerked his eyes back toward his empty plate, willing himself not to allow his mind down that route.

  ? “We’re the only Expedition guild in Ironmarsh,” she said with a laugh like warm honey. “Of course, we ain’t got feeder guilds and all that like Beastwick. We all gotta work together to keep our tribe safe.”

  ? “Right,” he said slowly, and tried to gently put a little distance between them once more. Again, she stopped the attempt, so he gave a quiet sigh. “How can I help you, Captain?”

  ? Something about the way her eyes tightened at that question told him she had a strong dislike of formal discussion. “You’re attempting to join the Compass Rose, aren’t you?”

  ? The unexpected guess caught him off guard, and he accidentally inhaled a little of his coffee. Emerging from his mug with a spluttering cough, he glanced at her again, this time with a little more nervous energy. “How did you know that? Have you been spying on me?”

  ? “Hardly,” she drawled, then drained more of her ale. “You haven’t proven interesting enough to warrant my attention… yet. I came over because I thought you were a pretty boy, but now…”

  ? Some of her flirty demeanor faded away, and her eyes narrowed as they flicked up and down, taking him in. He knew his face was flushing at the ‘pretty boy’ comment, but he tried to keep his features under control. “Yes, I suppose you could be good… If you were pushed.”

  ? The hand not holding him prisoner set the tankard down and slid down to her hip, where a knife and pouch sat together. For one bewildered moment, he thought she was going to draw the weapon, but her long fingers instead slipped into the pouch and retrieved two gold coins. That was enough money for a night’s worth of drinks, Grim thought with muted panic. How long was she going to stay here, forcing him into an uncomfortable encounter?

  ? “Nope!” A new voice made both him and Veyra jump, and a man stepped into view. He was tall and broad, with a powerful sort of frame that felt out of place without armor to wrap around him. His hair and beard–both the dusty red of a dying fire– were neatly trimmed, and his green eyes had a kind, thoughtful look to them, though they were currently narrowed in annoyance. Without any sort of greeting or introduction, he leaned down and plucked Veyra away by her collar, as if she were a child caught in mischief.

  ? “Ack!” she spluttered, immediately struggling, her feet flailing wildly and catching her tankard, sending it flying across the room. “Bolton, put me down!”

  ? “I can’t even use the toilet without you trying to bed some innocent local!” The man chided. He wore the same dark green half cape as Veyra, though his uniform was bereft of any special signs that indicated a higher rank.

  ? “Put me down!” She screeched, now slung over his shoulder like a particularly angry sack of potatoes. She pounded on his back with her clenched fists, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I was not trying to bed him! I’m recruiting! I am your captain! Put. Me. Down!”

  ? The man, Bolton, favored Grim with a faintly sheepish grin. “Sorry about that, lad. She forgets her manners quickly when she’s had a few ales. Hope she didn’t ruin too much of your night.”

  ? Grim opened his mouth to reply, but the absurdity of the situation robbed him of anything to say. The Captain, quite a few years younger than the man currently holding her legs pinned to prevent them flailing, thrashed indignantly over his shoulder, doing her utmost to break his spine with her small fists. She suddenly seemed a lot less intimidating and a lot younger.

  ? “It’s… fine,” he finally managed to croak out. It was all he could do not to laugh at the red-faced woman as Bolton turned. Her brown eyes were full of righteous indignation now, and she wrenched at the man’s cloak, either trying to throttle him with it or use it as a purchase to try and break free. “I… uh… thanks.”

  ? Veyra suddenly went still as her eyes met Grim’s, and a slow, mischievous grin spread across her face. She put a hand against Bolton’s back and released a surge of electricity that jumped from her fingers to the man’s back. He stiffened and let out a grunt, but refused to loosen his grip on her, and simply walked away, carrying his recalcitrant Captain with him. “I hope you can enjoy the rest of your night in more peace. Dennis, please give him another serving on us!”

  ? “Roger that, Bolton,” Dennis called back. Grim could see the look of relief on the barkeep’s face as he watched the wiry woman resume her frantic attempts to break free. “Make sure she throws up outside! I’ve upped my cleaning fee since last time!”

  ? Bolton let out a laugh, a deep, sonorous sound that almost seemed to shake the plates on nearby tables. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure this little noble rat doesn’t cause you any more trouble. I’m sure she doesn’t want Orren to make her race lines again.”

  ? Veyra froze again, but she wasn’t acting this time. Her eyes were wide and fearful, and she visibly shrank. Quite a few of the patrons–and Dennis included–laughed at her transformation from feral cat to meek kitten. There was still much of the pout about her, though, and she let out an indignant noise before turning to face Grim again.

  ? “Come find me when you want a real challenge, Grim Kestrel,” she said. Despite being draped over Bolton’s shoulder like a naughty schoolgirl being dragged away by a disappointed parent, her eyes had that sharp glint to them again. “You’re not going to get what you want in this city, or in the Compass Rose! I’ll be here all week, so make sure you come and find me when those fools reject you!”